


Is This Blood Mine?

by LookBetweenTheLines



Series: Complaints of a Hero [10]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Amputation, Fallout of battle, Gen, Graphic Descriptions of blood, Graphic Violence, Stormblood Spoilers, unnoticed injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26681623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LookBetweenTheLines/pseuds/LookBetweenTheLines
Summary: It is truly incredible what the body can do when the brain does not know it's injured. Z'kila is usually fast enough to avoid grievous injury; the occasional instances where he isn't are usually accompanied by a lot of sulking. But sometimes injury doesn't register; especially in the midst of an urgent evacuation.
Series: Complaints of a Hero [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1400026
Kudos: 16





	Is This Blood Mine?

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place around level 68 of the Stormblood MSQ, diverges a little from the canon. Inspired by an irl injury I had, and I like writing my WoL as a sulky bastard.

Tightening her grip on her rapier, Alisaie lunged for the final thrust through the soldier’s chest, the point finding almost no resistance in his plate, flesh or bone. She ripped her weapon free as he went limp and whirled around to catch the other, a roegadyn fellow, under the arm. He roared with the pain and swung his axe around, intending to lop her clean in half, but with one arm useless his aim was clumsy and the swing lacked power. She hopped over the axehead and swiped twice across his front, scoring through the plate. Propelling herself backwards off his broad chest, she finished him off with a blast of lightning. 

He took a moment to crumple to the ground, the axe clanging against the rock. Alisaie glanced about herself to be sure reinforcements weren’t on the way. The only moving figure was one Z’kila making his way over, his stride purposeful but unhurried with one hand pressed to the left side of his abdomen. He spared a glance for the pair of dead imperials at her feet and Alisaie’s linkshell began to chime. 

Z’kila waited in patient silence while Arenvald informed her of his findings, rubbing idly at the spot on his stomach while he looked to the three towers of Specula Imperatoris in the distance. Although the grumbling and pouting she remembered from their time searching for Bahamut in the wreckage of Dalamud had- not quite ceased, but certainly lessened considerably, he had seemed really quite grateful to be spared the battle. Looking up at his face in profile, Alisaie thought he seemed, not exactly concerned, but curious. As though he wanted no part in the battle itself but nevertheless wanted to know how the Allies and their friends were faring. 

‘Apologies,’ she said to him, disconnecting the link. She apprised him of Arenvald’s news, of the spying duo on their tail, and then asked, ‘I see you found some trouble of your own. Are you hurt?’ 

‘Just pulled something, I think,’ said Z’kila, wincing as he pressed lightly into his abdomen. ‘Didn’t warm up properly. Are you all right?’ 

‘Perfectly,’ she answered, trying to keep her smile on the proper side of smug. The quirk of his mouth and playful roll of his eyes told her she wasn’t entirely successful. ‘I hope the assault is going well,’ she added as a quick change of subject, looking away from him to the towers of the stronghold. 

At her side he turned to follow her gaze and in her periphery she saw him take a breath to answer. 

_Boom._

Blasts of soot, ash and smoke erupted from the base of the towers. Alisaie staggered back from the explosion even though they were too far away to feel the impact. Z’kila flinched and pressed his hands over his ears. They shared a confused, shocked glance before the deafening creak of bending metal yanked their attention back to the stronghold. There the central tower slowly sank down into the ground, the column bending and snapping in two places before the impact made the ground tremble and the entire stronghold was obscured by rising smoke and debris. 

The silence that followed felt too still, too long. Unnatural. 

Alisaie looked at Z’kila. He looked back, equally perplexed. Her hand flew up to her linkpearl and she flew through everyone’s shell contact, all of which failed to connect. ‘No one’s responding,’ she said, struggling to keep panic from rising in her voice. ‘I don’t know if it’s being jammed or-’ She cut herself off.

‘Let’s go,’ said Z’kila, taking off at a run for the cloud of dusty smoke that was once the stronghold. Alisaie sprinted after him. 

The outer walls of Specula Imperatoris held strong, undamaged by the falling tower. Alisaie and Z’kila ran the length of it, searching for the gate hidden in the monstrous construction of black metal. The stench of ceruleum and burning rubber assaulted their nostrils and clouded Alisaie’s thoughts. ‘It’ worse…’ she muttered to herself. ‘So much worse… But maybe he wasn’t even in- _Pull yourself together._ ’

‘Alisaie,’ Z’kila called gently. ‘He’ll be fine. I found the gate.’ She hurried over as he stuck his fingers in the gap and prised open the heavy gate, so heavy it may as well have been a portion of the wall itself, just enough for them to slip through. His left side buckled slightly and he straightened up, a flicker of irritation in his expression. 

The stronghold was littered with chunks of stone and metal, some huge and others the size of pebbles. Between them were bodies—many bodies. Uniforms of red, yellow, black, silver and khaki scattered the ground. Some were wounded, many were dead; struck down by the battle or crushed by fallen debris. There were Imperial uniforms among them as well. Those that could were attempting to drag themselves away to the darkest shadows. Alisaie heard a whisper of what could either have been a curse or a prayer from Z’kila’s lips before she spotted the Flame General. 

He and Pipin looked to be trying to organise some kind of retreat with the handful of soldiers that were uninjured, directing those that had minor wounds out of the western gate and gathering the others to help those that couldn’t walk. Alisaie ran straight at them, hopping over burning metal with Z’kila on her heels. 

‘Where is my brother?’ she demanded as soon as they were in earshot. ‘Tell me where he is!’ 

Raubahn glanced around to appraise them, barked an order at a young, floundering Temple Knight, and then turned to address them properly. ‘I’m glad you’re here. In case it isn’t obvious, the Imperials fired on us. On their own stronghold.’ He sounded equal parts shocked and furious. 

‘My brother-!’ Alisaie began again. 

‘He was in the tower when it was struck, but that need not mean anything,’ Pipin interjected. ‘We are still in the midst of a retreat and many remain unaccounted for.’ 

The panic was growing, rising in her chest to the point she didn’t think she could keep it under control. Her hands balled into clenched fists. She wanted to shout. To scream. To kick and punch and demand to see her brother until they let her. 

Z’kila rested a hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him. His ears were set back, but his eyes were firm. ‘Calm yourself,’ he said. ‘Alphinaud will be fine. He’s been through much more than this. But there are soldiers out here that need our help, do you understand? They need healing.’ 

Though his words were firm and brooked no argument, the gentleness of his tone eased the worst of her worry. She took a deep breath and expelled the threat of overwhelming hysteria with it. ‘You’re right. Let’s go.’ 

Raubahn nodded his approval. ‘To the east, if you don’t mind. That’s where the worst of the rubble fell.’ 

The pair of them made their way east, checking every body they came across for a pulse. Those that had been crushed or completely disemboweled were beyond saving, of course, but Alisaie put her long-disused white magic to work with those that had a chance while Z’kila hauled those less wounded to their feet and urged them towards the west gate. Every time he clutched his side and winced when he thought no one was looking. Alisaie grimaced to herself and privately promised him a healing spell or two as soon as they had a moment to spare. Whatever he’d pulled, he’d pulled it badly.

‘Alisae,’ he called as they neared the eastern wall. She knew immediately by his tone that something was wrong. She finished her spell, pointed the Serpent soldier westward and then turned to find Z’kila.

She rounded a particularly huge chunk of the central tower and found Z’kila crouched next to it, speaking quietly to a Resistance soldier who lay on her back staring upwards with wide, blank eyes. At first glance she thought her dead, but then saw the rapid, shallow rise and fall of her chest beneath her coat. Then she looked down past her waist and saw—one leg was bent at the knee at an uncomfortable angle, but didn’t look broken, the other was crushed just below the knee beneath the huge chunk of tower. 

Z’kila looked up at her. ‘Alisaie.’ 

She blinked and snapped her eyes away from the sight. ‘Sorry.’ 

What could they do? A hundred roegadyns couldn’t lift that mass of rock and metal. ‘Alisaie, I need you to be ready to heal,’ said Z’kila. ‘A lot. As much as you can.’ Not immediately understanding, Alisaie crouched on the soldier’s other side and placed a hand on her arm, ready to do what she needed. Those wide eyes turned on her, revealing barely-contained panic. Z’kila stood up and hurried away. 

‘What’s your name?’ Alisaie asked the soldier, trying to take over Z’kila’s comforting words. She was a highlander with bright blue eyes, a curl of blonde hair escaping the hood of her coat. 

‘...Inga,’ the soldier replied at length. Her voice came harsh and strained. It was difficult to tell if she was in pain or not. 

‘Inga. My name’s Alisaie. Do you know where you are?’ 

‘Specula Imperatoris,’ said Inga. We were... trying to capture the stronghold, push the Imperials back.’ She blinked slowly. ‘We were winning. We were pushing them back. Then we heard an explosion and the tower collapsed. Am I going to die here, Alisaie?’ 

Smiling had never been so difficult. ‘We’re going to get you home,’ she said. How, she didn’t know; she could only trust that Z’kila had a plan. ‘Is there someone waiting for you?’

‘My little boy. Alfr. He’s three. He’s with my mother. His father died at Baelsar’s wall.’ Tears pooled in her eyes, turning them all the more blue. ‘I don’t want him to grow up an orphan.’ 

Alisaie swallowed her own emotions and gave her arm a light squeeze. ‘We’re going to get you back to your son, okay? Just hold on for a little while longer and think of him. Think hard of him waiting for you at home, with your mother. All right?’ 

Inga nodded and tear spilled down her cheek. She turned to face the sky, the dark, smoke-addled sky and closed her eyes. 

Z’kila returned at that moment, panting and sweating. Under one arm was a bundle of red shredded fabric, possibly torn from a Storm uniform. The other dragged a huge marauder’s axe. Alisaie stared at his findings. ‘What in-?’

And then she understood. Z’kila glanced up at her words, his lips pressed into a thin line. ‘You don’t have to look,’ he said, voice low. ‘Just be ready to heal.’ He looked down at Inga, set the torn fabric by her side and offered her a small smile. She stared at the axe, expressionless. ‘I’m sorry. If there were another way…’ 

Inga nodded once, a single jerking movement. ‘Alisaie..?’ 

Alisaie took the outstretched hand tightly with hers. Inga’s grip was vice-like and painful, sure to bruise, but Alisaie would not let herself wince. She held Inga’s gaze with her own, tried to smile, tried to look confident and reassuring. In her periphery she watched Z’kila stand up, take hold of the axe, stagger just slightly under its weight. She watched his shadow as he set his feet, take aim, swing. 

Inga’s scream shattered the air. Alisaie poured all of her aether into her, trying her damndest to stop the veritable waves of blood even though she knew that alone she couldn’t stop it completely. The axe clattered to the metal ground as Z’kila grabbed for the cloth, hastily knotting it around her leg as a tourniquet. 

Aether depleted and Inga still screaming, Alisaie looked up desperately at Z’kila. ‘Help me,’ was all he said, taking hold of her right arm and ducking under it to heave her up. Alisaie scrambled to support her other side. Inga was entirely limp between them, her whole left leg dragging and the stump on the right pouring a thick trail between them as they hurried to the gate. 

Raubahn and a handful of able soldiers met them before they even made it down the ramp, having heard the screaming. Raubahn took one look at Inga and ordered the others to take hold of her. They cradled her between three of them, the stump of her right leg in the air, and ran as fast as they dared out of the stronghold. 

‘Is that everyone?’ Raubahn asked. 

‘Almost,’ said Z’kila between panting breaths. ‘Possibly more by the east wall.’ 

Raubahn nodded. ‘All right.’ He glanced at Alisaie. ‘No sign of Alphinaud yet, lass, but our forces are still emerging from the tower unharmed. Stay strong.’ 

Alisaie nodded back, feeling lightheaded. 

As soon as Raubahn turned his back, Z’kila doubled over in silent pain and clutched his left side. Alisaie went to touch his shoulder but he was quick to shake her off, straightening up and dancing out of her reach like he was afraid she would waste a spell on him. ‘Save your aether for those who might need it,’ he said, smiling through the discomfort. 

‘I think _you_ need it,’ she pressed, jogging after him as they followed the blood trail back to the eastern side of the stronghold. 

‘I can rest later,’ he dismissed with a wave of a very bloody glove. 

Two women and a man by the wall were dead when checked, one of them in Imperial gear, but a Temple Knight lying face down by the east gate stirred. With her aether only beginning to replenish, Alisaie did what she could for him; which, thankfully, was enough to stabilise him. 

The blond-haired Knight groaned with an onslaught of pain as consciousness returned. Together Z’kila and Alisaie helped him sit up, checked him for broken limbs and open gashes. He had seen a harsh battle before the tower collapsed, or so they gleaned, and by the way he gripped his right arm Alisaie thought his shoulder might be injured. 

‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, hunting for indications of unhealed wounds. It was a difficult task with all of his chainmail. 

‘Everything hurts,’ he gasped out. 

Z’kila gave a light, sympathetic pat to his knee. ‘You’re alive, and you’ll stay that way. Let’s get you out of here.’ 

The elezen’s eyes shot up at Z’kila’s voice. ‘I know you...don’t I? You’re a ward of House Fortemps. You were there on the Steps of Faith when the Horde attacked.’ 

‘Ah...yes, that’s me,’ Z’kila said with a smile that was half grimace. 

‘I was there too. You saved my life. And now-’ He flinched and hissed through his teeth. Perhaps something was broken in his shoulder, Alisaie thought, and was considering the best way to help him to his feet when he glanced down at his knee. ‘Say... is this blood mine?’ 

The three of them looked at the offending knee, to the patch of dark, shining blood that was decidedly a hand print. Z’kila looked down at his palms and said. ‘No, don’t fret. I’m a bit of a mess myself.’ 

‘So I see,’ said the elezen. ‘Pray, see to your own wounds. I’m sure I can walk…’ He grunted with the effort it took to climb to his feet, keeping his weight off his right shoulder. ‘A thousand times, thank you…’ 

But Alisaie had stopped listening. Droplets of blood were dripping from the hem of Z’kila’s robe, staining the stone ground beneath him. She glared at him, ready to lay into him for lying to her when he was wounded far more severely than he let on, but found his expression baffled by the sight of his own blood on the ground between crouched toes. He stood, untied his sash and lifted his black undershirt. 

Alisaie caught her breath. His torso was a mess of crimson, blood smeared thickly across his lower half to the point of completely obscuring his abdominals. On the left side just above the hip was a small dark hole. 

‘...Ow,’ said Z’kila. He even had the audacity to sound surprised before he staggered. 

Alisaie caught his left arm before he could collapse and helped him to sit down, struggling to tear her eyes away from the wound. ‘If you can walk, go and get help!’ she snapped at the elezen, who was watching with wide-eyed shock and his own pain forgotten. He nodded once and ran off, limping a little. 

‘It’s fine, I’m fine,’ Z’kila muttered, even as he pressed his palm back over the hole in his abdomen. 

‘You are _not_ fine, look how much blood you’ve lost!’ Alisaie argued, yanking the sash from his short robe like it was to blame. ‘Bloody black. You’re always wearing _black_ and this is what happens.’

‘Hey, that’s authentic Hingan!’ he protested as she wrapped the sash around him like a bandage. 

‘It’s already ruined,’ she snapped back. ‘Honestly, only you could get stabbed and not notice. And you were carrying people and swinging axes- Gods know how much further damage you’ve done to yourself.’ 

‘It can’t be that bad if I didn’t even know it’d happened…’ 

‘With a nose like yours I can’t believe you didn’t smell it.’ 

‘This whole godsforsaken land stinks of blood. Do you think mine smells any different? _Eau de Z’kila?_ ’ He started to laugh but abruptly ceased with a wince. ‘...Ouch. This is not fair. I was fine thirty seconds ago!’ 

‘You were not. You were being a stubborn idiot.’ 

‘Alisaie, if I had known I’d taken a…’ He paused to examine the wound, ‘what looks to be a pocket knife to the gut, I would have told you immediately. One healing spell is better than whatever it’s going to take to clean up this mess. I’m not _that_ proud.’ Z’kila sighed and pressed his palms to the ground. ‘This is ridiculous, I should just go and-’

‘Z’kila, if you even think about standing up I’ll tie you to the gate with your own robe.’ 

He pouted and looked away, returning one hand to the wound, which was still dribbling. ‘I’m perfectly fine…’ he grumbled, mostly to himself. 

A chirurgeon of the Temple Knights and a Serpent conjuror hurried over, escorted by Pipin, and began a level of fussing that made Z’kila’s brow furrow and the fur on his tail fluff out. ‘I’m fine,’ he repeated, and went ignored.

‘Who did this?’ Pipin demanded, looking around like he might see the perpetrator lurking nearby. ‘An Imperial? I knew we should have secured the area-’

Alisaie stepped aside to allow the healers room to work over their petulant patient. ‘It wasn’t a craven Imperial soldier taking advantage of the chaos,’ she said with a sniff. ‘Just the Warrior of Light being his usual stubborn self.’ 

Z’kila looked up at her and made a face. 

‘It happened while we were securing Ala Ghiri,’ she added to explain. ‘He just claims not to have noticed.’

‘I didn’t-’ 

Multiple times Z’kila tried to convince the lot of them he wasn’t seriously hurt, and no one listened as they took turns showering him with white magic and wiping off the drying blood. Pipin ignored his pleas to tend to the soldiers that were in far worse condition than he. In the end he let them manhandle him in silence with a scowl on his face, even as he was stripped of his robe and gloves and forced to lie down. 

‘Honestly, he could fall on his own daggers and not tell anyone,’ Alisaie muttered as an aside to Pipin. 

‘ _Conrad!_ ’ 

Alisaie looked around. The scream was Lyse’s, undoubtedly, but she couldn’t immediately see her. Z’kila’s ears pricked and he tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down. He scowled at the chirurgeon and then said to Alisaie, ‘Go. I’m fine here.’ 

She glared at him. ‘You stay right there.’ 

He chuckled, winced. ‘I couldn’t go anywhere even if I wanted.’ 

She nodded back to him and then turned on her heel, racing back towards the base of the collapsed tower. 

Specula Imperatoris destroyed by its own side; Imperial and Allied men and women alike killed or gravely wounded; Z’kila hurt and her brother missing; there would be a reckoning for this. There _must_ be. Alisaie bared her teeth and sprinted for the tower’s base.


End file.
